Absolutely riveting, impressively fluid and utterly terrifying. On Netflix streaming now.
I caught this a few rainy days ago. There are very few films that deal with contemporary hot button issues well. Most of the time, the inclination of the writer and director is so patently obvious that the art is robbed of plausibility and force.
This movie is an exception. The issue is subordinate to the human story, and while that story is primarily told from the viewpoint of an anti-death penalty character (Susan Sarandon as Sister Helen Prejean) ministering to convicted murderer and rapist Matthew Poncelet (Sean Penn), that in no way colors the message, which is admirably equivocal, even, to my mind, shockingly, a hair pro-capital punishment. That is probably just me, given the hackneyed uniformity of most such films, but that the picture provides an emotional and almost ethical argument for the practice is astonishing.
Sarandon is restrained and effective as a woman of faith called to provide spiritual comfort to a man who has committed a monstrous crime, and as that man, Penn exhibits all the bravado, self-pity, cruelty and narcissism of a thug. Eventually, she learns she is not there to redeem him in any way, and shucks off her self-comforting fantasies that he was just a good boy led astray, and focuses on simply leading him to confession.
Director Tim Robbins takes meticulous pains to display the brutal toll on the victims’ families and has the balls to juxtapose the execution with an unforgiving flashback of the crime, and unlike what Poncelet has been selling Prejean up until the last moments before he is executed (he is innocent, he was stoned, his accomplice did the killing and raping and things just got out of hand), those flashbacks show him as a vile, entirely in control piece of shit.
Nobody is caricatured. No easy rhetorical gotcha’ lines are delivered. The employees of the prison, the medical professionals involved in the process, the families, they are treated with rare grace and equanimity. An example: Sarandon has dinner with her wealthy family, some of whom question her service to Poncelet. In the wrong hands, they would have been portrayed as the aristocratic, privileged rich, more concerned with their name and espousing small, likely bigoted views. Robbins, however, shows them as loving and concerned, with questions (“Why spend so much time on this cretin when you could be helping young children not to grow up into becoming this cretin?”) similar to that of the audience.
Similarly, Poncelet is never a beatific victim. Near the end, he praises Hitler, he spews racist invective, he even makes a sexual come on to Sarandon. But she works with him, to help him find a dignity within himself through the sole act of the admission of his guilt and contrition.
One of my favorite ghost stories, it has all the elements: a believable tortured performance by George C. Scott, a recent widower with whom an old house begins to communicate; absolutely chilling, hair-standing on the back of your neck moments; an engrossing mystery that seamlessly ties into the increasingly disturbing hauntings; and, a unhurried pace which heightens the terror. Trust me. Or trust Martin Scorsese. It’s on his list of the 11 scariest horror films of all time.
Also, scariest wheelchair ever.
Every bit as fun, entertaining and sweet as Paddington (seen but not reviewed). Director Paul King has infused the sequel with a Wes Anderson-esque quirkiness, clever detail, ingenious set designs, and playful cinematography, ala’ The Grand Budapest Hotel. Hugh Grant has aged nicely into a grand villain, and he fronts an inspired song-and-dance number to close the picture.
Just as Dunkirk was an ode to English pluck and a representation of the viscerally brutal and arbitrary nature of war, The King’s Choice serves the dual purpose of a national homage to Norway’s resistance in the face of a Nazi invasion and the strain placed on the powerful and the ordinary in such circumstances. Norway’s King Haakon VII, is a sweet, doting grandfather who is constitutionally deferential to a democratic body that is crumbling under the weight of events. He must bolster the government while staving off the more muscular, ambitious desires of his son, which carry with them an implicit criticism of his father as weak. Indeed, as the king suffers from a bad back, we often see him in a fetal position on the floor or a bed. Meanwhile, the German attaché, who is juxtaposed favorably with the uncompromising Wermacht, desperately pleads with the king to accede to Hitler’s demand for submission, knowing that failure to do so totally will mean the deaths of many innocents. The tension is palpable, the pace gripping, and the quiet moments – especially the scenes showing the effect on the families – poignant.
Charles Dickens (Dan Stevens) has had three flops and his “A Christmas Carol” is a must-win. We spend the film watching Dickens cobble his daily observances into the book, and soon, he is followed by all of its characters, who inspire him to write more, or mock his writer’s block (most of the mocking is by way of Scrooge, played with a sly bite by Christopher Plummer). The end of the book tortures Dickens, but much like Scrooge himself, addressing his personal demons brings the author to resolution and redemption. This is great fun, very well-done and will take a post on my ten “must see” list of Christmas films next December. Here are the other nine:
A Christmas Carol (George C. Scott version)
It’s a Wonderful Life
A Christmas Story
The Nightmare Before Christmas
This is what a superhero movie is supposed to be. Consistently clever, mainly for young people but with crossover to adults, and devoid of all the dreary seriousness of Gotham city and world politics and ethical dilemmas for people dressed up for Mardis Gras. Add the fact that the characters are almost impossible not to enjoy, the CGI is nifty rather than a blaring assault, and there are some really funny bits. And the finale is a blast (rather than a dark, dull, crashing snorefest ala’ Wonder Woman). The film also has a proper villain, the sleek, sultry, campy goddess of death Cate Blanchett.
Quintessential popcorn flick.